


Violet

by Faerie_Gutz



Category: Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, but you could read this as platonic, cuddles at the end, implied cassiopeia/marcassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27629209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faerie_Gutz/pseuds/Faerie_Gutz
Summary: Marcassin doesn't know what to do as he watches Queen Cassiopeia mourn over her dead father.
Kudos: 7





	Violet

**Author's Note:**

> !!Warning!!  
> this fic contains mourning of a past death, as well as spoilers. Read at your own risk!

It was a quiet and cool morning. It almost felt like something out of a fairytale, the gentle breeze and soft hazy manmade light seeping in. Marcassin traced the rim of his cup before taking a sip of his tea. Things had died down a lot since everything with Shadar and the White Witch had grinded to a halt, and his duties as the emperor had lessened significantly. It was good. He needed and deserved a break from everything. It was all so overwhelming. He hadn’t been okay since his brokenheartedness was cured, because he began to care about things again, began to worry again. His anxiety and poor mental state had been running buck wild, and was only just beginning to simmer down.  
He played with his deep blue hair, and was about to take another sip of his tea when there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” he said, and debated whether or not he had said it loud enough. He was about to say it again when the large iron door pushed open slowly, groaning in protest. Unsure why, he straightened his posture when a tall but petite and frail woman stepped through. She had on a knee-length white dress lined with lace along with a simple white cape, and her emerald green hair sparkled under the warm light of the palace. 

“Good morning Emperor, I’m sorry to bother you but I have something that I need to talk about.” 

Marcassin couldn’t pinpoint it, but there seemed to be some kind of melancholy dread hanging over the queen.  
“Good morning, Cassiopeia.” He said. “Is everything okay? You look a little on edge.” He then motioned for her to take a seat beside him on the red velvet sofa. 

Cassiopeia slowly took a seat. “Yes, I’m okay. I just have to talk to you about something.” Marcassin leaned in. “It’s… It’s my father. I feel like now that I’m back to normal, I-I should probably pay his grave a visit.”

Marcassin released the tension from his back and shoulders. “Ah, I see. The Wizard King’s tomb is up the Tombstone Trail, I’d be happy to give you directions-“

“No, Marcassin. That’s not what I mean.” Cassiopeia said. “I… I want you to go with me. I know you just need to relax after all this and I don’t blame you, but- I need someone who can relate to this.”

“What about Oliver? He’s lost his mother, and fairly recently at that.”

“It’s just… y-you’re… different, okay? I want you to come.” The queen looked away, attempting to hide the feint blush sprinkled across her cheeks.

Marcassin gave an understanding sigh. “…Alright.”

And so they walked the Tombstone Trail.

~~~

Finally, they reached it.

The edge of the pumpkin patch, with the shimmering pale blue candles, and an eerily, bone-chillingly beautiful Autumnian moon made of silver and pig iron.  
Cassiopeia slowly made her ascend up the plum-violet hill, the pumpkins flashing her a spooky grin with their carved, glowing faces. Marcassin just stood there for a moment, taking it all in. It certainly was a tremendous sight: the beautiful setting of the pumpkin patch and the queen, her emerald green hair and snow-white cape billowing in the wind contrasted the setting. 

Marcassin soon made haste, following in the shadow of the queen. Cassiopeia reached the tip of the hill and took a deep breath, pushing open the door. Marcassin had been following behind her the entire time, and had noticed her becoming seemingly more and more anxious. He didn’t know what he could do about it. He didn’t want to disturb the queen while she mourned. The coffin her father had been buried in was extravagant, to say the least. But what was he to expect? This was a king. The Wizard King himself. Cassiopeia slowly read the inscriptions on the wall and on the lid of the coffin. Marcassin could not understand what they said- it was entirely in Nazcaan.  
Cassiopeia began to breathe sharper, softly whispering the words to herself as she read. A few tears escaped from her eyes and splashed the black and purple flecked stone floor. The blue candles reflected off the wet drops, and they looked more like raindrops than tears, perhaps one you might find on a leaf in The Fairyground. Cassiopeia fell to her knees, weeping, continuing to splatter the ground with her nymph-like tears. She reached out, and placed a stone on the coffin lid. It seemed to glimmer and change colour with every different angle you looked at it. Marcassin didn’t know what it was for, but settled on the fact that it might have been something of importance or respect ten thousand years ago. 

Marcassin looked to the floor as a single tear caressed his cheek. He wasn’t pained that the Wizard King was laid to rest, He was pained that Cassiopeia was grieving. Seeing her in such pain made him want to cry as well. 

And so he did. With her. 

The prince placed a cold and pale hand on the queen’s shoulder. She craned her neck around, to look up at him from where she was kneeling. He didn’t seem to show any expression of sorrow other than tears. Cassiopeia clenched her teeth and turned back around, burying her face in her hands. Marcassin kneeled beside her, but did nothing but gaze intently at the inscriptions, still crying, perhaps in hopes that if he looked long enough at the unfamiliar writing, he would be able to read it. Turning back to the weeping queen, his nervousness began to creep up on him. 

What was he to do? Did she want comfort? Was hugging her a good idea? He glanced at the stone she had placed down, and got an idea. Quietly, he got up and poked his head outside, looking in the dirt. He grabbed a rock, small, but smooth and almost glittery. It was the colour of the night sky. Marcassin entered the tomb again. Cassiopeia turned around upon hearing his footsteps. Marcassin extended a hand: Not to take hold of hers, but so she could take the stone sitting in his soft, white palm. When the queen seemed almost slightly confused, Marcassin took a step forward and placed the stone on the lid of the coffin, next to hers. 

He turned back to the green-haired woman. And didn’t know what to say. He wiped a tear from his eye before quietly saying, “are you oka-“  
He didn’t have time to finish. Cassiopeia had stood up, and embraced him in one of the tightest hugs he had ever received. He hugged her back, closing his eyes. Cassiopeia let her tears slide down the prince’s neck. He didn’t seem like a stranger to her anymore, not just some prince. He seemed like a close childhood friend. 

He seemed like home.


End file.
